Play Pretend
by Hoodfabulous
Summary: "Let's play pretend," she says, "just for tonight. You'll pretend you're not married. I'll pretend to care that you are." My entry for the Meet the Mate Contest.


Play Pretend

The first time I see her, I'm standing outside in a line in front of Buster's. Buster's, a hole-in-the wall diner in the heart of Seattle, historically the best coffee place in town, is only known by true locals. No tourists allowed. Ironically enough, it was in that very diner where my mother first met my father, but when I look back at the day I first met Bella Swan, I'll find nothing ironic about it.

Her laughter catches my attention before I actually lay eyes on her. Boisterous laughter bounces off the surrounding high-rises, so loud it startles me enough to place my protective hands on Bree's shoulders and turn to find the source of the sudden noise. I purse my lips when I see a raucous group of girls. Partygoers, still awake at the crack of dawn after a long night of clubbing. A blonde, staggering in height and vaguely familiar is the first woman I notice. She's young. They're all young. Twentyish. Blondie's got long, thick hair and unfriendly ice-blue eyes, a contrast to the grin on her face. Her left arm is locked with one belonging to a shorter girl with dark features and a pointy nose. Her hair is ink black and fifties pin-up style. Her clothes are short, tight, and grungy. The happiness in her eyes isn't forced. She smiles at me, but it's wrong. It's wrong because the third girl's looking at me, and when I return her gaze, there's nothing else I see besides her.

Loose, brown curls fan around her face, tickling the top of her tits hidden under a thin top, and what lovely tits they are. Small, perky, still maintaining the roundness of youth, before time and all that comes with that dreaded four-letter-word really kicks in. She's wearing clothes as short and tight and revealing as her friends. Her body is perfection, nothing like the salacious blonde or as gaunt as the dark-haired stick figure walking beside her. Her smile twists into a smirk once she notices me staring a beat too long. There's a hickey on her neck and glitter on her eyelids, and when she laughs at something the shorter girl says she throws her entire body into it. They pass the forming line of people behind me, noses in the air. Perky Tits shoulder checks me as she walks by.

"Hey," someone grumbles, but it's not me. I don't say a word. I'm too focused on the jiggle of her ass in those shorts and on forcing down the erection threatening to happen. It's been too long.

Perky pivots and runs her hands through her hair. Bright red lipstick is smeared in one corner of her swollen mouth. She's been kissed, and kissed thoroughly. The thought makes me sullen. Scoffing at my ridiculousness, I drop my gaze and squeeze Bree's shoulders, but she's glaring at the women cutting the line, paying no attention to me. Hands on her hips. Wordless. Her disgusted stare says it all. She's her mother's daughter. One look and you know exactly how she feels, but at nine-years old not many people notice.

"Quit cutting and get in line like everyone else," the guy behind me says. He's a thick man with meaty fists and buttery-armpits on his graying shirt. A yellow hard hat sits high on his head. "We ain't got all day. Some of us have jobs to get to, girlies."

"And we don't?" the blonde asks, laughing. She's braless too, but her tits are bigger. Porny. Unattractive, to me at least. Construction Guy's thrown off his game for a split second, his eyes lingering below Blondie's neckline.

She sneers at his prying eyes. "Don't worry, fat ass. We'll leave ya a few dozen donuts."

Construction Guy finds his composure, squinting at her with his hazel eyes. "Gotta grab some coffee, and catch your second wind, huh? Bet your boss won't fire you for being a few minutes late. That pole'll still be waiting." He nudges me and winks. "Strippers," he says, nodding at the group. "Or hookers. Been at it all night. This area's turning into a shithole."

I want to sink into the pavement. I want to tell him he's a presumptuous asshole. I want to do a lot of things, but what I end up doing is covering my daughter's ears with my hands once the true vulgarities slip between Blondie's lips. Nose-to-nose, the indecent blonde and the fleshy man scream until they're both red in the face. I'm jittery. Nervous. I'm not a confrontational kind of guy. It's not that I'm a pussy or anything. Drama-filled days of the past few years exhausts my memory till this day. The line moves forward during the fuss and I urge Bree ahead. We shuffle past the group. Perky's eyes are on my hands.

"Cute kid." Her voice is concert-crowd raspy. "Daddy."

Her lips move in slow motion. Her tongue assaults the word. I want to smash her against the building and suck her tongue into my mouth. The thought blinds me. My heart speeds. I realize my hands are still on Bree's ears and I feel like a tool. I drop them, my left thumb spinning the loose gold band on my ring finger. Perky watches the motion, raising a challenging eyebrow and shrugs. I ignore Perky, convinced she's a dark angel sent to drag me to hell.

The girls leave, sans coffee, and now I'll never see her again.

"Daddy, can we go to the park after breakfast?" Bree's tugging on my shirt. By her impatient frown, it seems like she's been tugging on it for a while.

Snapping out of my Perky-induced haze, I nod, ruffling her hair. "Sure thing, kid. Sure thing."

* * *

Mt. Rainier appears to be floating in the distance. Early morning clouds drift slowly by the monstrous mountain far below the peak. The Space Needle is closer to where we stand, appearing to be taller, scraping the sky with its peaked point. The view never grows old. I squint and cup my hand over my eyes, cell in hand. Angie teases me for my photo obsession. Guess I've moved along with the times, capturing each minute and uploading everything I see on social media. Anything to occupy my time, to keep me busy from losing my mind.

"Can we puh-lease go to the playground now?" Bree taps her foot, arms crossed over her chest. Never have I felt so old as I did climbing the hill to see this view. Bree whined the entire hike up, glancing over her shoulder at the playground we'd left behind.

"It's your day, kid. Whatever you want." I give her a soft smile and she brightens, grabbing my hand and dragging me along.

I follow her to the little playground area. The playground is shit. People don't come to this park to play. The view is the selling point. We pass several tourists on the way to the playground: cameras and cells in hand, different accents chatting in an excited rush. I feel stupid even being here. A permanent tourist trapped in this God-forsaken city. Bree flings herself onto a swing and I sit on one of the few benches in the empty playground area. A small crowd gathers minutes later. Kids join her on the playground. I exchange smiles with the adult park dwellers. They deposit themselves on benches, some in pairs, some alone. There's a couple of single dads hanging out. They're jittery, glancing around the park. Waiting on someone. When a brown-eyed girl enters my field of view, they grow still.

Jesus Christ. What's she doing here?

Her face is scrubbed clean, apart from that damn red lipstick. She's ditched her club clothes for an abdomen-bearing white shirt and torn jean shorts. Still no bra. Slightly puffy nipples topped with pebbled peaks bounce with each step she takes. Her skin glows in the sunlight and her cell brightens in her hand. Something glitters from her navel. I want to fuck her so bad I can't stand it, and she's walking this way. For the first time since I've entered the park, I focus all my attention on my daughter, who's hanging upside down on the monkey bars.

"Bree, don't fall." The panic in my voice is legit. I may not be the best father, but that kid's my everything. I've already lost everything else. If something happened to her, I might as well stop existing. "Please don't fall, baby."

"I won't, Daddy." She works herself down from the bars and cuts across the playground with another little girl hot on her heels. My shoulders relax and I lean back on the bench, nearly coming undone when I realize Perky's sitting beside me, half-turned on the bench, phone tucked away. We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Finally, she pulls a cigarette from behind her ear.

"Hey, Daddy. Got a light?"

I shake my head. "Sorry, no. Never picked up the habit."

Damn, I'm not sure what I thought she'd say. _Coincidence seeing you here. Noticed you staring at my tits earlier. Fuck off, you old jerk._

"Bummer. I need nicotine something serious." She shrugs and the cigarette returns to its place behind her ear. "Maybe one of the other dads has a light."

"Maybe." Bree's staring at me from the bottom of the slide. I kind of want Perky gone now. Bree's got a big mouth. She'll blab to Angie about the girl in the park and I'll never hear the damn end of it. My mind conjures up the imaginary argument we're probably gonna have and my exhaustion grows tenfold. I'm already making up excuses for why I'm talking to the strange, young woman in the park, prepping myself for an inevitable war. Why do I do this to myself? Is it worth it? Perky's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

"I saw you staring at my tits. Earlier. At the coffee shop." Her face is serious. For a split second, I think I'm imagining her words. When that split second fades away, I worry she's gonna slap me in front of the growing crowd but she doesn't. If anything, she scoots closer, her leg bumping into mine. "I live around the corner from Buster's. When I saw you leave I followed you here."

"I—I'm sorry." I fumble for more words. They don't appear.

"Don't be." She runs her fingers through her hair, lifting the heavy mess off her neck. "So are you down?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you down?"

"Down to what?"

Perky giggles. "Are you down to fuck?"

I nearly choke on my own spit. "What?"

She laughs that throaty, loud laugh. "The way you were looking at me at the coffee shop. You looked like you were down to fuck."

Construction Guy wasn't lying. This girl's a prostitute. I glance around the park expecting to find an undercover lurking in the bushes or hiding behind a newspaper, but all I see are glaring, red-faced fathers, mothers, nannies and their rambunctious kids. "I'm, uh, I've never slept with someone I don't know."

"Fine." She drops her hair back on her shoulders and leans heavily on the back of the bench, one side of her face resting on her arm. "What do ya wanna know?"

 _I wanna know what you sound like when you moan. I wanna know how your legs feel wrapped around my waist, your heels pressing into my ass. I wanna know how you sound when you beg for more. Most of all, I wanna know your name._

All those questions dwindle in the forefront of my mind, but the one of utmost importance blasts inside my head. "Do you do this a lot?"

Perky's face is blank page. Utterly unreadable. "I'm not a hooker, if that's what you're asking. I'm horny is all, and you're just my type. You're what, thirty-four, thirty five? Settled. Bored. Wondering if there's more. Hoping like hell there is. You wanna feel something again, don't you?" Perky bites the corner of her bottom lip. "I wanna feel something too." She looks pointedly at my dick.

I feel like I'm trapped in an R. Kelly video. My mind's telling me no, but my body ... I laugh like a goon at the absurdity of my thought, of the insanity of it all. "Unfuckingbelievable."

"What?"

I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees, watching Bree on the playground. "This moment. This kind of stuff doesn't happen to me. It's eight o'clock on a Saturday morning and a gorgeous girl is propositioning me for sex."

Perky nods, a small smile teasing her lips. "Pretty much, yeah."

"And I'm gonna say no."

Perky raises an eyebrow, disbelief clouding her face. "What? Why?"

"I'm married." Two words come out in a whoosh of air. "Been married for a long time. And you're a stranger to me."

"That's why it's the perfect arrangement. You don't know me, I don't know you, and to be honest, I don't give a shit who you are or anything about you. I want to use you, and from what I can tell I think you wanna use me too." Her fingers walk across the back of the bench until her fingertips brush the back of my neck. I'm hard, harder than I've ever been. Hard from her touch, her voice, from the proposition, from the guilt and want of it all. The excitement. The first exciting thing that's happened in my dull life in years.

"Let's play pretend," she says, "just for tonight. You'll pretend you're not married. I'll pretend to care that you are."

Her free hand makes a bold move for my crotch. Fire floods my veins. There's kids everywhere. Kids less than ten feet away. No one is looking. No one is looking other than the jealous dads, and she's stroking the worn cotton of my jeans covering my cock. I inadvertently raise my hips, then freeze, horrified by my actions. I push her hand away, her tattooed hand. Her teasing fingertips on my neck scrape the surface of my skin, and she threads her fingers through my hair, tugging my head back. I side-eye her, terrified and completely turned on. She studies my face for a long moment, releases my hair, and sighs. I rub the back of my neck, my stomach in knots as she stands. She's a winged-horse, the kind my kid sister always drew in the fifth grade. I told her they weren't real. She didn't believe me.

"Coulda been nice, you know?" The rising temperature has softened her nipples. A perfectly round outline of pinkness presses against her shirt. I've stared at her chest so long that I've ignored the sadness in her voice. She's not so different than me. We both want something we can't have.

"I know."

Hours later, while Angie and my sister-in-law, Lauren, are washing dishes after another mediocre meal, I spill all the details of my day to my brother, Jasper. We stand around the corner of the house I barely afford, pretending to work on my lawn mower that finally decided to quit. Jasper's more in the know as far as mechanics goes compared to me. He bought an old junker in high school which he still drives, but that five thousand dollar shell of a car is now a fifty-thousand dollar Camaro. We've always been resourceful, Jasper and I. Hell, we had to be. Nothing came easy to us as kids.

Jasper's been my wingman since the day he was born, less than a year after I came into the world. We were all accidents, me, Jasper, and our kid sister, reminded of this fact daily by our drunken mother in our younger years. We were the kids who were left forgotten on the curb after school, the ones who ate the free meals in the cafeteria. Our pants were too short, our free haircuts from the local beauty school completely ridiculous. It's no wonder we set out to conquer the world after high school, leaving our shitty past behind.

Jasper sucks down the remainder of his cigarette and flicks it a dozen feet or so into my pristine grass. Feeling pissy about the tan filter protruding up from the blades of green irks me, like I'm that guy, the kind of guy who gives a shit about his lawn when there's far greater things to give a shit about in the world.

Jasper stands and groans, rubbing his lower back. He's been bent over tinkering on the mower for a while now. Grease stains his AC/DC shirt. The sleeves have long been ripped away. Tattoos riddle his arms. We're polar opposite. My flesh is clean.

"You gonna fuck her?" He lights another cigarette and squints at me in a Daryl Dixon sort of way. Damn, the new season needs to start soon. Another meaningless thing to fill the void.

"Lower your goddamn voice." I glance over my shoulder, paranoid the wives have retreated to the back patio for some after-dinner cocktails, but we're alone. "Didn't you listen to anything I said? She's a kid, for Christ's sake. Besides, even if I wanted to, I don't know anything about her. No name, no nothing."

"She said she lived around the corner from Busters."

"That really tells me nothing, Jas."

"You don't know what she drives?" I swear, Jasper knows every vehicle inside of Seattle. Give him a description, he'll track it down. Comes with the territory I suppose. He's been buying and selling cars his entire adult life.

"I don't even know if she owns a car. Took a cab to the park for all I know."

"She said she followed you to the park. Did you drive? You don't remember a specific car following you?"

"We took a cab." A door slams somewhere. Bree streaks across the backyard, chocolate pudding smeared on her face. Smiling, I scoop her into my arms and swing her around in circles. "There's my silly girl. How are you gonna sleep tonight if Mama filled you full of chocolate?"

"I don't wanna sleep." She flings her head back, lets the wind catch her hair. "It's summertime. No school tomorrow."

"No school, but Grandma and Grandpa Webber are coming to pick you up in the morning. You don't want to be tired when they take you to the zoo, do you?"

"I don't care." Bree grumbles and kicks her legs. I put her on the ground. "You never let me have any fun."

"Funny, your mom says the same thing."

Bree sticks her tongue out, but smiles. She darts across the yard and into her sandbox, the one she outgrew ages ago. The sun fades in the distance. Outside lights pop on. Angie and Lauren cut up about something inside the house. Their laughter is muffled by the walls.

"Anything else specific that stands out about the girl?" Jasper's still hung up on my tale. "Birthmarks, scars, tattoos?"

"Perky tits." I grin. "That distinguishing enough for ya?"

Jasper slaps my arm with a dirty, red work rag. "Hey, just trying to help you here. Been awhile since you've cleaned the pipes, I'm guessing. You still sleeping on the couch?"

"Nope. Sleeping in the spare bedroom. I'm officially a guest in my own home."

Jasper grunts, wiping his greasy hands with the rag. "I'll be damned if I sleep in the guest bedroom of the house I'm paying for. Angie's a controlling, money-grubbing ice princess. You need to put her out on her ass and fuck that twenty-year old slut you've been rambling about for the past hour."

"Divorce her for what? She's always been faithful, she's a wonderful mother, model citizen. Hell, her father's the minister of the largest Christian church in Seattle. Her mother plays the church organ. People think the entire family's perfection personified."

"She promised to help you pay for this overpriced McMansion before the two of you said your vows, but quits her job as soon as the deal is closed. You're in debt out of your ass, and she's overcharging credit cards getting manicures, pedicures, facials and shit, while you're at work slaving your ass off not to mention how much she's racking up on Stepford wife clothes." Jasper climbs onto the riding lawn mower. "You mention money problems a couple of times, and she becomes the born again virgin. You're probably so backed up, I'm surprised you didn't blow your load when that chick touched your jock today."

Jasper turns the key and the mower comes to life. He does a trial run, shredding his forgotten cigarette all over the lawn. Something's changed, because I can't find it within myself to care. Smirking in satisfaction, he parks the mower next to me and cuts the engine.

"She had a tattoo, here." I point to the back of my hand. "Pink with an 'S' in the middle. Is that enough of a clue for ya, Detective Jasper Cullen?"

Jasper's face brightens. "As a matter of fact, it is, _Defective_ Edward Cullen. Run inside. Tell the wives we're running to grab a beer. And change your clothes, for God's sake. We're going out to meet some hoes."

* * *

The 'S' on Perky's hand isn't a tattoo after all. Jasper fills me in on the drive through a part of Seattle I've never been to before. Seedy. Dark. Half-dressed women pilfering the sidewalks. Pimps standing in dark doorways. Abandoned buildings deteriorating on every corner, one of which stands out apart from the others. Alight. Pinks and blues and purple lights streaming through holes in the cardboard plastered over the broken windows. A beefy black man stands guard at the door, checking Id's and collecting cash. Standing in line, I feel like I need a tetanus shot to walk through the door, and maybe an HIV test upon leaving. Nevertheless, I hand him my driver's license and give him a dumb smile. His stern face never changes. He passes it back without even a customary glance at the piece of plastic. He stamps my hand. A pink circle with a curved 'S' in the middle.

"I'm gonna get fucked tonight," Jasper chants. Fucking around doesn't bother him. Doesn't bother his wife either. They've got that kind of marriage, the one people claim doesn't really work, but it does. Or it has so far. Jasper clamps his hand on my shoulder, giving it a good squeeze. "And so is my big brother."

I almost argue with him. I'm married. She's a kid. I don't know her. She's probably not even here. But what's the point? I'm here after all, which means something is about to go down, unless I puss out. Highly likely. A once strong man diluted into a shriveling, overworked, depressed nothing. Maybe I'll find my backbone somewhere in this crackhouse.

If I felt self-conscious about my age, I don't feel it now. People from twenty-one to anywhere in their elder years party around us. There's an old crackhead sitting on the edge of the makeshift stage, his bare feet dangling over the edge. A faded cap announcing his veteranship from Vietnam is perched proudly on his head. He sips from a brown paper bag and holds the bag up in salutation when he notices my nosey gaze. I avert my eyes.

"They move the party to different locations every Friday and Saturday night," Jasper yells over the blast of music. "They pay the homeless people part of their profits for letting them use their space."

"Why don't they buy their own space and have a legit business?"

Jasper smiles a secret smile, leaning into my ear. "Because they're not a legit business. Climb the stairs to the second floor. People'll be having sex everywhere you look, exchanging cash. Snorting coke. This is the place you go when you wanna be someone other than yourself. Bankers, lawyers, CEOs, bums, teenagers with fake IDs, college kids, they're all here. They all wanna be someone else for tonight, and what they want isn't always legal."

In one corner of the room, I spot her. The light from the stage dances across her face. Her lips are attached to the blonde girl from earlier this morning. Their kiss is passionate: hands in hair, Blondie's backed against the wall.

"That's her? The brunette."

"Yeah."

Jasper blows out a deep breath. "I'd tell ya to go talk to her, but hell, I don't wanna interrupt the show."

I don't agree with him. Watching the two girls get it on doesn't do anything but piss me off. My fantasy girl stands a couple of yards away and I'm rendered still and speechless, the same way I do when I get another bill in the mail for Angie's credit cards, or when I've worked a sixteen hour day to come home to no food in the fridge. Angie curled up asleep in bed. Laundry piled up for days in the laundry room. Fast food receipts littering the bar in the kitchen. I hate my life. Nothing I do from this moment on will make it worse.

Jasper's voice fades away with each step I take. I cross the room and pry the breathless girls apart. Blondie yells, an open palm in the air ready to strike. I grab her wrist, and suddenly she's the one rendered still. She's not so different from Angie. Tall and commanding. Past the glitter and makeup, she's a spoiled rich girl who didn't get enough attention from her daddy. She stares at me in awe, fear in her eyes. Perky touches my arm. I grab her hand. She's wearing that damn red lipstick.

"Let's go."

"Where?" Her voice is raw sex. Raspier than today.

I push her against the wall, touch my lips to hers. Her tongue darts out and I suck it into my mouth: one fantasy fulfilled. She doesn't taste like sugar or strawberries or any of that other shit I've dreamed about all day. She takes like cheap wine and lipstick. She tastes like an easy sin. After another deep kiss, I shove her thin shirt up over her tits, anxious to see. Cupping them in my hands, I groan, pressing myself into her, my fingers exploring her nipples.

"Anywhere. I'll follow you anywhere."


End file.
